


Under the Hood in the B'Hood

by Apfelessig



Category: AC Brotherhood - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig/pseuds/Apfelessig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ortensia Orlandi is fighting off Borgia guards when a man in a Roman Olive tunic shows up and slaughters them all. He then spouts an ominous line and Ortensia is impressed enough to beg him to teach her how to fight.</p><p>And then the guy goes and loots the corpses, what a weirdo.</p><p>Not-too-serious story of a new Assassin Recruit joining the Brotherhood and learning about her city's rooftops, her peers' missions, and her Mentore's predilection for leaping in and out of hay bales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Olive Man

**Author's Note:**

> It has been suggested I play 'too much' Assassin's Creed, most recently AC Brotherhood. I have politely disagreed. It is true, though, that my Assassin recruits all have (in my mind) distinct personalities, and I have quite abandoned the actual storyline in favour of their exploits and training. Writing it up for the general public's amusement was a logical next step.
> 
> All the names of the characters are given by the AC Brotherhood game itself, and these are, in fact, my assassin recruits. Ezio is obviously as canon as I want him to be, and Leonardo da Vinci may make an appearance, maybe.
> 
> Bolded text is a direct quote from the game.
> 
> I do not speak Italian, so apologies in advance.

It started with a fight.

_These bastardi think they can do whatever they like._

As if running around with both boobs and trousers was an open invite for harassment. It's not as though Ortensia Orlandi wore the sword for decoration, either. They really should have been expecting some pushback. That is to say, there were still five of them (cowardly, these well-dressed Borgia guards, always bullying in groups) and even though the sword at her side accompanied her through several hours' a week practice, the appearance of a tall gentleman in olive garb who fought alongside her was not unwelcome.

Ortensia swung wildly to block a heavy blow, and backed away to get a chance at an opening -- the attacking guard lurched forward unnaturally, chest angled upward, before toppling sideways, lifeless. Before the dead guard had fully come to rest, two others fell, faces unrecognizable. The olive cape fluttered in an arc, like a sea wave crashing into itself, spraying red mist. 

It was over in seconds, it seemed, a heap of red tunic and stained metal at Ortensia's feet. The Roman heat sizzled, and the blood rush in her ears seemed to drown out the sound of her own heavy breathing.

The olive man turned and stepped toward her. She raised her sword, aware that the sound of moving linen might be the last thing she ever heard. The man stopped, held out a hand over her blade, and slowly pushed it out of the way. There was a clink as he did so, and the unmistakeable scrape of blade on blade. Before she could make sense of it, he had stepped withing grasping range.

Ortensia dropped the tip of her sword to the ground. He extended his left arm and dropped it heavily on her shoulder.

" **The liberation of Roma has begun.** "

_What?_

He was smiling. He may have been smiling. There was a scar on the side of his mouth that concealed whether or not it was a genuine, both-corners-raised smile and not a one-corner smirk.

His eyes, though, did not need translation. There was a genuine goodwill there. Gratitude and relief and sincerity. She looked at his shirt sleeve, which looked as though he'd dipped his hands up to his elbows in a bucket of blood. She could feel it staining her thin shirt.

" **That was well done** ," she said, finally. " **Please. Teach me to fight like you.** "

Instead of showing surprise or a grimace of inconvenience, the man merely smiled wider. 

"I would be glad to. But you must know, the path I walk is not an easy one. The training will be hard. You will need to be fully dedicated."

Ortensia nodded. "I understand. I'm willing to serve you and learn from you."

The man held his smile and shook his head. "You will serve a greater thing than me or yourself. And you will learn from everywhere you can."

Ortensia hesitated, wondering what the practical difference was between her words and his words, then nodded again.

The man took away his hand and bowed his head. "I am Ezio Auditore de la Firenze."

"Ortensia Orlandi."

"Hmm. Well, you already fit our naming scheme. Follow me. I will show you where you will train."

Ortensia stepped forward, ready to begin a long walk, but a change seemed to come over Ezio Auditore. He turned left and right rapidly, ran to the nearest corpse and began patting down its pockets.

"...Um. Messere?"

He fished out a handful of florins, a vial sealed with wax, and what looked like a small clay bulb before dropping to the next corpse and repeating the process. This time, he pulled out several small metal balls.

"Messere? We should leave, we're going to attract attention..."

The man paid her no attention, lifted one arm of a corpse and hefted the body onto his shoulder. Ortensia stepped back, shocked.

"Messere!"

He stepped two paces to the left and dropped the body unceremoniously. Ortensia winced at the sound. The man seemed unperturbed, lifted a weapon, inspected it shortly, then dropped it beside its previous owner. He surveyed the other two bodies, but apparently decided against liberating them of their earthly possessions.

"Shall we?"

Ortensia nodded mutely, wondering whether combat skill grew alongside eccentricity and an unmoral sense of post-mortem ownership or whether he was just a madman who was good with a sword.

But his eyes smiled. "Well, then."

They began to walk. "Lesson one, piccolina," he said, suddenly. "Wipe your sword and put it away after a kill."

Ortensia blushed and hastily cleaned her blade, walking the rest of the way in chastised silence.


	2. In Cognito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortensia visits Tiber Island for the first time and learns to flow like water, more or less.

She'd never had a reason to be on Tiber Island, before. She rarely even made it into Centro district proper, only on an occasional market day. Antico district was her stomping ground, and the bustle of the city (and the smell, good grief, did no one clean up after their horses here?) was loud, overwhelming and dizzingly delightful.

The man -- Ezio, his name was Ezio, but his posture didn't seem to invite familiarity -- moved like a ghost. He passed through crowds as if they were vapour, only to let them solidify in time to bump and jostle Ortensia. She lost sight of him more than once, and only kept up by being insistent with her elbows.

"Watch it!" a man shouted, after she managed to knock a heavy box out of his arms. She turned to yell at him for standing in her way, but the tide of the crowd already carried her forward and into a fruit stand.

"Crazy girl!" another man shouted and she responded loudly in kind. She looked around again and was about to despair about having lost her guide for good, when a hand dropped onto her shoulder. She spun. 

"How did you get there?"

"It's a skill we assassins use. Blending into a crowd and moving unseen is one of the first things you need to learn."

"Messere, did you just say 'assassin'?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he held out a corner of his cape. "Hold on to this, and try to move like I do."

Ortensia grabbed a hold of it, and watched it get pulled from her fingers seconds later. She swore under her breath, pushed her way forward and took ahold of it again. This time, she managed to hold on for seven seconds. The third time she caught up with him, she heard him say, "You're improving."

"Si, messere," Ortensia said, unsure if he was making fun of her or not. Before she could fall into a rhythm again, a cluster of four guards walked by, inches from her. She gasped and froze, ready to bolt. Smooth as silk, Ezio Auditore danced in a circle and stepped behind her, hand pushing gently on her upper back, urging her forward at a leisurely pace.

"Don't run. Don't jump. Keep your eyes on the market stalls and other people. Walk calmly. Don't draw attention to yourself."

"We are literally covered in blood," Ortensia pointed out.

There was a moment before he responded. "Yes. But, for some reason, they only notice it if you start to run. Mostly."

"Are they really so stupid?"

"You may be surprised how easy it is to lose their attention, even when they pursue you. Sitting on a bench can be enough, sometimes. Or there's always a hay bale."

She was sure she'd misheard him.

"And so, we arrive," he said, gesturing to a door hidden from the main street by a descending flight of stairs. Ortensia looked up and tried to see the top of the building, but only flinched as the sun caught her squarely in the face. She felt her way down the stairs, half-blind, until she reached the door. As she felt for the door handle, Ezio Auditore appeared behind her.

"You should consider walking through the door as if you were giving an oath. What has been learned cannot be unlearned. This is not a passing fancy. A mind that is given light is forever changed."

Ortensia wrapped her fingers around the handle. "My resolve is stone. You saved my life and you offer the chance for me to learn the true ways of the world. I will not turn away."

"Even if you do not like what you learn?"

Ortensia looked up at him. "Knowledge itself is not unpalatable. Only its application."

"Then we shall teach you how to discern its proper application." He nodded toward the door. Ortensia pulled out and up, and pushed the door inward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As slick and sleek as Ezio's fighting is supposed to be, you can't tell me that using a hidden blade on someone's face wouldn't _cover_ you in blood. I love imagining Ezio looking like a red paint grenade exploded in his palms, walking past guards nice and slowly, as if that wouldn't cause the guards or the surrounding citizens to freak out and run screaming.
> 
> Then again, it's the Borgia. Being covered in blood isn't exactly an uncommon or noteworthy occurrence...


	3. The Mansion Above and Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Assassins' Hideout has a confusing layout and everyone seems to always be covered in blood.

Well, the first thing she hadn't been expecting was more stairs. Having reached the bottom, the next thing she hadn't expected was the sheer size of the place. Most houses she saw were sparsely furnished, the floors made of well-packed dirt. The only decoration in her family home was a small cross, alongside whatever flowers or branches her younger siblings had brought in.

This was a far cry from a crumbling brick hovel. 

The heat of a dozen torches made the air crispy and dry, but provided more light than she had ever seen indoors. She stepped forward tentatively, looking left at the banners, then looking further left at the shelves covered in...things, then further left at a large painting, then further left at something else that caught her eye, then stopped as she lost her bearing.

Which door had she entered from? How many rooms did this place _have?_

"This is our hideout. Our sanctuary. You will come here to receive missions and to learn our teachings."

Ortensia walked to a doorway and peered inside a large room. Every empty space on the wall was covered with large, empty picture frames. _Right_.

"While you are here, you may hear things, plans, or see faces that may be familiar to you. It is in the Order's interest that everything that happens in these walls never be spoken of outside, and never to anyone outside our Order. Our work is dangerous and affects the fate of the world."

She wandered around further -- a room full of partially dressed mannequins, a small tower with a gate? -- then came back to what was evidently the central room. 

"What lies above this floor?" she asked, suddenly.

The olive man paused again before responding. "This building belongs to a friend of our cause. Why do you ask?"

"The building extends several stories upward from the street level. So far we have traveled only further into the ground. Such a large building must have some purpose."

The man's smile was unmistakable this time. "You have some observational skill."

Ortensia shrugged. It was hardly an improbable thing to notice. Besides, he hadn't actually answered her question --

"I am il mentore, but my work frequently takes me from here. My more skilled pupils will aid your education in my absence."

This was news. "There are more of you?"

"No one is like _Il Mentore_ ," a voice said from behind her. Ortensia spun around -- no human should be able to move that quietly! -- to see a young woman standing loosely to attention beside a table covered in parchment. She gave Ezio a wan smile. "But we all aspire."

Ezio bowed his head at the compliment. 

"It is a foolish master who does not learn equally from his students," he said. "Ortensia Orlandi, our newest recruit."

The woman stepped forward briskly and bowed her head. "Candida Masini," she said, by way of introduction. Ortensia bowed her head in response. This was a very formal atmosphere indeed. She couldn't remember the last time her friends had greeted her with anything other than a graphic hand gesture and a lurid insult. She also noticed a few things about the older recruit. 

Candida was tall. She was fiercely attractive, well-muscled, and had an energy around her best described as subdued frenergy, the same way that lava seems slow but carries the flames of a hundred hells. She was also covered in blood.

"Er," Ortensia said. "Well met."

"Candida is very skilled," Ezio assured her. "She is one of our most promising recruits."

"I aim for the sky and hope to fall with grace," Candida said cryptically, but with a bold smirk.

"Candida, please leave our recruit with Laura. I would like to discuss your latest mission. Ortensia Orlandi, welcome to the Brotherhood."

With that, he swept away up another flight of stairs and vanished behind a door. Ortensia turned to see that Candida had bowed her head as he had left.

"Should I do this too?"

"Yes. We show il Mentore our highest respect, always. But fear not, you will learn. Follow me, I'll take you to Laura."

"Is she...also an assassin?"

"A recruit, like me and you."

Ortensia nodded and followed behind the young warrior as they began to walk. _Candida, Laura, Ortensia..._ There were a lot of sisters in this Brotherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really notice it until Ortensia asked the question in my head: we never get to see most of the hideout building! (this is alluded to in Ezio's non-answer to her question). Since I'm the writer, though, I decree there shall be a reading room, a wrestling room, a dormitory, a kitchen, another kitchen, and a rookery.
> 
> Also, I really hate rotationally symmetrical floor plans. In games and in real life. I get so lost...


	4. Filling in the Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our newest recruit learns about stairs and the author wildly invents what the upper floors of the Tiber Island hideout look like. Introducing Laura Boccanera.

There were more stairs. Ortensia was built for distance, not ascension.

"What's Mentore told you, anyway?"

Candida spoke the same way she moved: briskly, with purpose. She held her back straight, angled forward only to attack the stairs. Ortensia slapped a hand on the wall as she tripped on a step's edge.

"Er - not much --" She shook out her foot while she replayed the day's conversations in her head. "Nothing, come to think of it."

Candida gave a snort. "Typical Mentore. He's so caught up in the big picture, he tends to neglect the finer details. There's no better fighter, obviously, and his reputation for getting things done is unparalleled... Just doesn't always remember to fill in everyone else. Put it this way, when I was recruited, I didn't realize I was gonna be killing people until three days later."

Ortensia couldn't help but notice that her tone of voice had changed subtly.

"Are you...local?"

Candida looked down over her shoulder, grinning. "You mean, why don't I talk like Mentore?"

_She's not even looking and she doesn't miss a step. Amazing._

"Mentore's the only one of us with a formal education, novice. All of us were recruited from the streets. Emiliana got a bit of learning as a kid, and Ugo could read pretty good before he came here, but everything we know, we've learned here, on Tiber Island."

Ortensia was shocked. The formality, the poise of the older recruit... and she had come from the same place as Ortensia. 

"What did you do before you came here?" she asked.

"I was a hairdresser."

Ortensia tripped on another step.

After the fourth flight of stairs, Candida waited on the landing for Ortensia, and then beckoned her into a large, sparsely furnished room. 

"Our quarters are through those doors," she said, pointing to the other end. "You'll have a small trunk for your things, but it looks like you don't have much to put in there, anyway," she added, looked her recruit up and down.

"Ezio-- Mentore didn't tell me I'd be moving in --"

Another snort. "Figures. We'll have to get you some novice robes, anyway."

"Don't you also need to... change..."

Candida looked down at her attire as if seeing it for the first time. It resembled a butcher's apron. "Yeah, probably. Ah, Laura."

A brunette entered soundlessly holding a roll of parchment. She wore a green tunic, tied with a pink sash. Unlike Candida's well-muscled frame, she was full-figured and walked with a presence that was grounded and reliable. Next to her implacable oval face, Candida seemed almost jittery. 

"Check it! New recruit."

"About time, too." Her voice was strong and solid. "We need to fill out the lower ranks. Laura Boccanera," she said, with a small bow.

"Ortensia Orlandi."

"And you even fit our naming scheme. You'll be running off and leaving me to be the welcome committee, then?" This was said to Candida, who had walked into the dormitory.

"Yeah, Mentore needs me," she said through the open door, peeling off her soiled clothes. Ortensia tried not to look shocked at the nudity and quickly surveyed Laura's face to see if this sort of thing was to be expected around here.

Laura caught her glance. "There's not much privacy here, although some of us make more of an effort."

Candida emerged in an identically coloured but clean tunic, and tied a navy sash around her waist. "You might need to explain a bit about what we do here," she warned. "Mentore left out some key information again."

"And of course you couldn't fill her in on the way up."

"You do it so much better, Laura, you've got a real teacher's patience. Ciao, bella."

"Don't trip!" Laura called after her as Candida vanished down the stairs like a whisper. She shook her head and turned to look at Ortensia properly.

"Come on, then. Someone's got to tell you what's going on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I didn't think of it until I wrote it, but it's very likely that the recruits Ezio finds are largely illiterate and uneducated, no? Compared to his privileged upbringing in Firenze, the people he saves are simple (poor) citizens, primarily from the less developed areas of Rome. It makes sense that alongside fighting, stealing and killing, some basic things like reading, writing and math might have to be introduced or at least advanced.
> 
> Another one of the 'finer details' Ezio never gets around to thinking of. (He really improvises a lot, doesn't he.)


	5. Walk the Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortensia discovers that to Walk to Walk, you have to Walk... a lot. Introducing the Two Tens, Emiliana Santi, and Severino Stornello.

It was Ortensia's first full day as a _recluta_ , a novice in the Assassins' Order. She was standing in an alley that opened up to a small courtyard, adjusting her robes. They were worn in but the design was uncomfortable and the layered fabrics were making her sweat more than usual in the Roman mid-morning. Unlike the higher recruits' robes, they were 'white', meaning undyed. In reality, they were grey, and stained from numerous vigorous washings. Ortensia had considered pointing out that, surely, an assassin was meant to blend in and to do so would require a less outlandish outfit. Still, no one had even given her as much as a second glance. _Incredible what people don't see_.

Today's lesson, Laura had informed her this morning, was about movement. 

"We have to become like shadows. Without substance, shifting, but glued to our targets. We have to anticipate the tide of a crowd and move with it. If you resist a crowd, you stumble and draw attention to yourself. Everyone notices the ripple in the water, but nobody notices the water."

Candida was absent, having left again late at night after a lengthy discussion with Ezio Auditore, Il Mentore. Comings and goings were frequent at the hideout, and Ortensia was introduced to several other recruits, some of whom left again, before dusk had fallen.

Of these, a few stuck out in her memory. The mid-level recruits Cristiano Corsellini and Vittorio Vitelli could have been twins. They both wore Assassin White, the only ones not to modify their clothes in some way, and their mannerisms were so similar that she often confused their names. She was not alone in this, however, and was told that they were often referred to as a collective, the "Two-Tens".

"Why's that?" she'd asked Laura.

"Their initials, CC and VV. If you write them down, it adds up to 210." She looked at Ortensia thoughtfully in the silence that followed. "No one's ever taught you numbers, have they."

Ortensia had blushed furiously, but Laura had brushed it off. "It's easy. Severino can show you later."

Severino Stornello had fierce eyes and spoke little. His darkened tan was the result of a lengthy sea journey, a mission for the Order. He'd left for the mission almost illiterate and had returned a veritable expert on navigation and chart reading. His sash was azure, and along with his teal robes looked like the Mediterranean he was so fond of.

The recruit who had truly impressed Ortensia, and who was aiding in today's training alongside Laura, was Emiliana Santi. The other high-level recruits merely didn't make noise when they walked, but Emiliana Santi made no noise, _ever_. Her clothes were silent when she moved. Doors opened mutely at her touch. Her tankard alighted on the table like a feather and her knife and fork brushed the plate like falling sand.

Now, Emiliana was standing by an art merchant, speaking softly to the vendor about a particular piece. Laura was casually leaning against a tree in the other corner. Ortensia's task was to hold a jug of water, filled to the lip, and make one round of the square in under 2 minutes without spilling a drop. They were going to observe her.

Ortensia picked up the jug, achingly slow. She took a step forward.

_Spilch._

She uttered a lengthy curse, then continued. _It was in the crucial step between steps, when the weight went from toes to the heel of the next foot, that balance had to be maintained._

She exited the alley without incident and turned to the right to begin her slow circle. Seconds later, the jug was knocked from her hands and shattered amid a dark puddle of water that sank into the courtyard cobbles in seconds. The man who had bumped her barely broke his stride and was soon gone from view. Ortensia stared at the ground open-mouthed then looked up to where Laura was-- had been. A hand clapped on her shoulder from behind.

_I hate it when they do that._

"There's another jug in the alley," came Laura's voice. "Go on, _novice_. This is your only lesson for the day, anyway."

Ortensia turned to protest, but she was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could never leave Ezio in his Assassin White robes. I mean - you'd stick out like a sore thumb, wouldn't you? In AC II, I always changed into 'new clothes' as soon as I arrived in a new city. Venetian Azure, Tuscan Ochre, Wetlands Ivory... How else are you supposed to fit in? (Not that you still don't look out of place, what with the plate greaves, massive hood and big-ass Assassin symbol belt. Whatevs.)( _Fortunately_ , AC Brotherhood also lets you dye the cape. That horrible cherry red and gold Medici cape in AC II clashed with _everything_... I would much rather have garnered some notoriety than continue to offend the basics of camouflage so flagrantly.)
> 
> The jug-training was my idea. It seems like the sort of Karate Kid thing Laura would make a new recruit do.
> 
> Oh, there actually is a sea voyage mission. I thought it was funny - according to the flavour text, they basically snuck an assassin on board for a year and were like "Yeah, go find out stuff." I sent Severino on that mission before I really knew what his personality would be like, but the 'stalwart salty sailor' thing really stuck.


	6. Thick as Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortensia competes against another low-level recruit and fine-tunes her thieving skills. Introducing Beatrice Simoni and Adele Sozzi.

The morning broke like a jug, that is to say, jarringly, followed by a weary sigh of the newest recruit of the Assassin's Guild. Ortensia sat up in the wooden cot and held her head. She'd had dreams about that jug. It had been dusk before she'd done it, walking around the square without spilling a drop. Laura and Emiliana had been patience itself, seemingly unconcerned with spending an entire day mingling in the Roman crowds, chatting to the merchants, and somehow managing to place a filled water jug in the alley after every breakage without Ortensia seeing them.

These assassins were truly something else.

"You're new, then."

Ortensia jumped, but much less than usual. She was almost used to the sudden appearances. At the foot of her bed stood a young woman, peering at her curiously over folded arms. For a moment, Ortensia thought the killing had begun early, but the woman's tunic was dyed crimson, not blood-spattered.

"Ortensia Orlandi..."

"Hmm, so I heard. I'm Beatrice Simoni! Pleased to meet you."

Ortensia swung her feet over the edge of the cot and reached for her tunic and sash. "Where's Laura?"

"She's on a mission. I'll be teaching you today."

Ortensia looked at her again. She seemed... eager. Bright. Cheerful, but clearly younger than both Laura and Candida. She barely seemed older than Ortensia herself.

"What...what rank are you?"

" _Guerriero_ ," the woman said promptly.

"That's Laura's rank," Ortensia said, surprised.

"Hmm-mm! So, you ready? Because today," she said, holding up Ortensia's hood, "we're learning to steal."

* * *

They were back in the square, or rather, on a rooftop overlooking the square. Ortensia cast a bitter glance over the area that had followed her into her dreams. Beatrice sat on a tiled chimney cover, feet dangling. Another recruit, an assistente, stood to attention to Ortensia's right. She was blonde with light eyes, an unusual sight in Rome, and had introduced herself as Adele Sozzi.

"So, ever stolen anything before?" Beatrice asked.

Ortensia wondered if there was anyone left in the Antico district who _hadn't_ stolen. Times were hard, so you made them easier. Adele raised her hand and Ortensia disliked her immediately for it.

"A ribbon, once..."

Who stole a ribbon? What about bread? Beatrice seemed delighted, however. "And you, Orlandi?"

"I stole breakfast for my family every day for two years."

"Great!" Beatrice seemed to take both of their stories with equal enthusiasm. "Laura said to teach the principles of misdirection and touch-distraction, but I thought we could play a game instead." 

Ortensia frowned. Laura's jug exercise has been tedious and frustrating, but it had undoubtedly worked. Ortensia had moved through the morning crowds like a snake. A game seemed childish, by comparison.

Beatrice held up two strips of leather. "I'm going to hang these strips from two people in the crowd. You have to take it from them without them noticing."

Oh, this was going to be _easy_.

"And just so you keep paying attention to your surroundings," Beatrice pulled out two more strips, both dyed crimson, and tossed one to each recruit. "Those go into your sash. Your other job is to steal each other's strip. If you bring me back a strip but don't still have your own, you lose."

Ortensia and Adele glanced at each other briefly. Beatrice grinned broadly. "Shall we?"

* * *

Beatrice stood at the foot of the broad stone stairs leading into the square and looked up at her recruits. "Okay, I'm gonna tuck away these strips. I'll be back shortly!" Her smile flashed and she stepped into the crowd and...vanished. Ortensia tried to follow with her eyes where the crimson hood had gone, but she was impossible to track. Beside her, Adele was trying to do the same. She seemed nervous. Ortensia wondered where she was from, with her hair and soft hands. Somewhere you didn't have to steal your daily meals. 

Beatrice reappeared shortly. "Done! They're hidden. Got your own strips? Okay, first one back with a strip wins!"

Without a jug to worry about, moving through the crowds was like dancing on wind. Ortensia flitted past wide skirts, stepped, turned on a toe and swept under an outstretched arm reaching to inspect a fabric, from the cuff of which had been dangling a leather strip. _One_. She hesitated -- she could go back to Beatrice now and win -- but scanned the crowd quickly for the other strip. No, that was a hair ribbon, no, that was part of the woman's sleeve, no, that was -- yes! There! Ortensia shuffled in step behind a older man, then stepped once -- twice -- and lightly slipped the second strip from the sleeve lacing of a noblewoman's dress. _Two_. She looked down. Her crimson strip was still there.

Heart singing, she flowed through a group of chatting merchants to the steps where Beatrice stood, arms crossed, still smiling. She triumphantly held up the two leather strips.

"Mission completed, _insegnante_."

Beatrice smiled even wider. "Well done, _recluta_! You certainly have light fingers."

Ortensia bowed her head. "Thank you."

"I hope your pride in your skills is a suitable consolation prize."

Ortensia's face fell. "What? I--" She grasped at her sash. Beatrice's smiled remained in place as she faced Adele, who melted out of the crowd, sheepishly holding up a crimson strip. Ortensia's face ran hot and she looked down and away.

"Excellent opportunism, _assistente_ Sozzi!" Beatrice said cheerfully. "No long faces now, Orlandi. Another round! After all, this is --"

"-- our only lesson for the day," Ortensia completed, her heart sinking.

* * *

Later that night, Ortensia lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Adele entered carrying two cups of wine and handed her one. Ortensia accepted as graciously as she could without moving anything she didn't need to. The long days had wiped her out.

"Adele," she said, after a while. "When you said you'd stolen before... a ribbon, was it?"

"Yes," the blonde said softly, sitting on the adjacent cot and sipping wine.

"Was it a leather ribbon?"

Adele let a small smile flit over her features. Ortensia groaned as the day's "game" became clear. Beatrice had used Adele to teach Ortensia humility. The final score had been 57 to 3.

"I'm an idiot."

"Not at all," Adele said, warmly. "Just proud."

This did not feel any better to Ortensia. She looked at the ceiling for a while.

"I spent a whole day competing with you when we could have been working together to steal the other strips..."

Adele smiled then. She patted Ortensia's arm lightly and stood. "It doesn't matter how long it takes to learn the lesson, as long as it isn't forgotten."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and longer! And more prose-like...
> 
> The original title for this chapter was "It's Not Hazing If It's Educational."
> 
> Beatrice's little (mind)game is also my own invention. I like the idea of this capture-the-flag type learning game. Also, in my mind, this oft-used square is quite full with people, not sparsely populated as it is in actual game play.


	7. It takes a Guild...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The low-level recruits enjoy a low-key morning on their own.

When Laura woke her the next morning and told her that the senior recruits were all going out on missions, leaving no one to instruct her in basic sparring, Ortensia did her best to feign disappointment. She wished them well, watched them load their travel packs and weapons, and for a moment suppressed a twinge of jealousy at their obvious competence and hard-won camraderie. 

After they'd left the dormitory, Ortensia sat upright and whimpered loudly. Two days of walking around the square from mid-morning til dusk had transformed her calf muscles into two rocks. She massaged them gently and made them worse.

She dressed and hobbled into the kitchen, where Adele was vigorously mincing herbs next to a steaming pot.

"Ortensia," she smiled.

"Good morning, Adele." Ortensia picked up an apple and bit into it. "What are you cooking?"

" _Bollito di carne_. Cristiano and Vittorio are returning from Cologne today and it's one of their favourites."

"The Two-Tens, right? Do you know them well?"

Adele expertly chopped five carrots and dropped them into the steam. "Oh, yes. They were recruited just before I was. I've joined them for most of my assignments."

"Really? How do you tell them apart?"

Adele thought about this for a moment. "Vittorio's older," she said, finally.

After Ortensia tried to cross the kitchen for some bread and was forced to admit her physical incapacity to her fellow recruit, Adele sent her into the weapons room to sit on a chair and await a poultice. 

The chairs in front of the fireplace were not empty. Severino sat with his leather armour on his lap and a pungent smelling bottle by his feet. He held a rag and was in the middle of rubbing oil into the leather when Ortensia sat across from him.

"Good morning, Severino."

"Hello." He rarely used first names and spoke minimally. At their first introduction, Ortensia had been intimidated by his bulk and the sailing scars that marred his forearms. Emiliana had picked up on this swiftly and had said, quietly, "Perhaps you should look at his arms more closely." Now, Ortensia looked again at the small tattoo she had missed the first time they'd met. A fragile flower, nestled in the crook of his arm for safe-keeping, petals curling in a sun she couldn't see.

"No training today?" Severino rumbled.

"The teaching recruits are all on assignment. I haven't received any other instructions, yet."

Severino nodded. He reached down for the bottle and tipped a small amount of oil onto his rag.

"Why do you use the oil?"

Severino inhaled deeply for the number of words he would need to reply. "Leather armour has to be soft to protect you. If it's hard and dry, it can crack."

Ortensia nodded understanding. Severino worked in silence for a few minutes, then spoke up.

"Laura said you can't read numbers."

In her previous life -- four days ago -- Ortensia would have gotten defensive. Beatrice's lesson had served well, though. If there was something she needed to learn, then she should benefit from her peers' knowledge and experience.

"Laura told _me_ you could teach me," Ortensia said. Severino nodded and continued to work on the armour. Ortensia understood this to mean that the lesson would wait until the leather was properly cared for. She sat back and stared into the fireplace, realizing with some surprise that she was thoroughly content.

Later, after she knew the numbers up to 100 and could add and subtract, the Two-Tens appeared under a pile of bags and with stories from the Germanic lands. Her calves eased under Adele's expert care, and even Severino joined them for a game of scopa that lasted well into the evening. Cristiano and Vittorio talked to Severino about the route they'd taken, and Ortensia had never seen the sailor so animated as when they spread large hand-drawn maps over the table and bent over them. Adele pulled out her own leather armour and showed Ortensia how to spot cracks and dents. 

Somewhere during the day, she realised that the camraderie she'd witnessed this morning came from days like this, the off-days, when a lack of duties and assignments gave room for them to grow together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes a guild to train a recruit much the same way it takes a village to raise a child. (Oh, believe me, I'm full of cheesy quotes. I'm very fond of my assassin recruits.)
> 
> Not sure whether "Germanic lands" would be correct. Someone can improve that for me, if they'd like. The weapons room isn't where armour is located, but it's got a fireplace and looks way more cozy. 
> 
> Also, much like in gameplay, the time needed for recruits to go out on and complete missions is vastly distorted and not supposed to represent reality. "Yeah, Laura's on a mission but she'll be back in time to go another mission tomorrow and leave you here with no one to teach you."


	8. Basic Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning to walk like a snake, steal like a breeze, and count things, Ortensia learns the first rule of combat: never trust someone who looks way too calm in the face of adversity. Introducing Rinaldo Rocca.

If Ortensia hadn't been previously aware that she lived in a den of superheros and athletic demigods, the next morning made it abundantly clear. After an long evening of wine, cards and conversation, Ortensia had gone to bed in a half-empty dormitory. Now, shortly after sunrise, she was looking around, confused. The high-level recruits were all present, awake and dressed, chatting amicably to each other. The Two-Tens were at the far side of the room, pulling on clothes. Her own qualms about nudity had lessened considerably, but she averted her gaze out of politeness.

"Orlandi!" Beatrice shouted, seeing her awake.

"Y-yes?" Ortensia pushed back her thin blanket and got to her feet, fumbling for her uniform. "You're all back already? Where's Adele?"

Beatrice counted on her fingers. "Sozzi's on a solo mission, Stornello's meeting up with Da Vinci and Ubaldi's talkin' politics with Machiavelli. _Mentore_ said something about Bartolomeo and the French _cazzi_. Oh, forget your regular clothes. Wear these."

Ortensia was pulling her tunic over her head when a bundle of clothes hit her. She stumbled heavily into the wooden cot.

"Bruising her already, Beatrice?" Candida Masini's voice. Ortensia's stomach lurched. "You have all day to do that."

"I'm providing a warm up."

Ortensia pulled on a well-worn sleeveless tunic and searched for a sash. 

"Don't bother with the sash," Candida said, tying her hair back with a leather band. "Combat training today."

Ortensia pushed her palms onto her eyes, trying to wake up. The Two-Tens had joined the group, still looking weary from their travels the day before. Ortensia's calves were feeling much better, but had she been given the choice, she would have preferred another day of learning numbers and basic cartography.

And these high-level recruits had just been on a mission...

"When did you get back?" she asked.

Candida scratched her head and turned to Beatrice for confirmation. "Couple hours ago?"

Laura clapped a dumbfounded Ortensia on the back. "Come on, _recluta_. Rinaldo's waiting for us downstairs."

* * *

Rinaldo Rocca stood in the centre of the weapons room, hands folded behind his back, feet wide -- a solid example of Roman fortitude. Ortensia had only glimpsed him briefly in the previous days and had felt entirely justified in her fear. There was no chance of a delicate floral tattoo on Rinaldo Rocca. She would happily believe that no needle could pierce his skin.

The centre of the weapons room had been cleared out, and the weapons racks were lined against one wall, like a buffet of blades. Candida made lazy rounds of the perimeter. She walked like a tigress. Ortensia's initial observations had been correct: Candida was a force to be reckoned with. The sleeveless tunic and loose, knee-length trousers showed bunches of muscle, rolling smoothly under olive skin with each loping step.

Laura stood solidly and calmly to one side, looking on with an unreadable face. She seemed full-figured when she was clothed in full recruit garb, but now Ortensia amended that to "stocky". Laura was built to hip-check carriages.

Emiliana, who entered now with Beatrice, seemed almost comical by comparison. Standing side by side with Laura, she resembled a slender spaghetti strand paired with Laura's eggplant. She was unusually gracile.

Beatrice was the average of all of them, most similar to Ortensia herself. The Two-Tens were similarly lean. Marathon runners, perhaps. Ortensia tried not to imagine Rinaldo Rocca using them as weights.

When Rinaldo spoke, Ortensia had expected the brutish shouts of the Borgia guards. Instead, his voice filled the room without any sign of effort.

"It is one of the three great paradoxes of our Order," he began, "that we seek to preserve peace for posterity but use acts of violence as a means. We champion the survival of our people, yet we permanently remove a fraction of those we aim to save. As Assassins, understanding this contradiction is a step to understanding the complexity of life itself: one may be two things, opposite in every direction simultaneously."

Ortensia felt the floor drop away from underneath her. _...I don't understand. Oh no, I don't understand. I've joined an Order and made friends and found purpose and I don't understand what for._

Rinaldo's eyes found hers and he smiled.

"As Assassin _recruits_ , we accept that our struggles to understand are how we gain wisdom and practice mental discipline during our apprenticeship."

Ortensia swallowed with difficulty. Her mouth was dry. She hadn't been expecting this.

Rinaldo inhaled sharply, and the ethereal tension diminished. "As Assassin recruits, we also accept that we are placed in extraordinary situations that require us to be at our best. And not just our best technique. We must improvise," here, Rinaldo started pacing slowly, "we must be aware of our surroundings," he made a large circle with his hands, not breaking stride, "we must be physically prepared to handle any situation," he continued to walk past Laura, "we must be adaptable--"

The next second passed before Ortensia could make sense of it. He had thrown an arm -- a leg? -- at little Emiliana with snake speed. The two blurred into cloth and skin before Rinaldo flipped heels over head and landed face down on the stones with a resounding smack. His hand was pinned to his ankle behind his back by the lithe assassin.

Rinaldo turned his head to grin up at Ortensia and the Two-Tens, who gaped without shame.

"And we must never be fooled by appearances," he concluded in a strained voice. Emiliana looked at Ortensia with absolute tranquility and smiled, distantly.

"To this aim, we train basics," Rinaldo said, face still glued to the floor. "Today, we review standard grappling moves. Laura with Vittorio, Candida with Cristiano, Beatrice with Ortensia. Go!"

"Is she going to let him up?" Ortensia whispered to (possibly) Cristiano as they moved into pairs.

"He has to get up himself," Cristiano said over Rinaldo's subdued grunts, still awed. "That's been the custom so far. She's so _small..._ "

Ortensia followed Beatrice to a clear space with extreme apprehension. The young recruit gave her signature broad smile.

"Ready for another lesson in humility? Come, Orlandi, let us see what else you're proud of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh, I name-dropped Da Vinci, Machiavelli and Bartolomeo! It's like I'm actually writing a story that takes place in the game with actual characters from the game, not just my own ones... 
> 
> They'll show up eventually, I promise. :P


	9. Horse Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many components of horsemanship and Ezio possesses almost none of them. Emiliana is determined to remedy this in Ortensia's teaching.

"It's important not to be nervous. They can sense hesitation."

Two nostrils exhaled a gust of warm, foul air into Ortensia's shaking hand. Dark lips brushed over her palms and then snuffled over the food, leaving nothing behind. The horse shook its mane and huffed appreciatively.

"It surprises me that you haven't worked with horses before."

Emiliana was standing nearby with a brush, looking on at the awkward introduction between human and beast. Ortensia stayed rigid as her hood was investigated for more food.

"They are... around. But I try not to cross paths with them."

The older recruit stepped forward and after unspoken communication with the animal, patted its neck. "They are very gentle creatures."

Ortensia jumped as the horse lifted and lowered its foot. Emiliana rubbed the horse's head and moved to where the saddle lay. 

"We will go on a short trip, just to help you get comfortable. Without horses, you won't get far in the Roman countryside, and there are not many missions you'll be able to complete solely on foot."

Ortensia weighed her nascent career as an assassin against her desire to remain on the ground. Emiliana hauled the saddle over the horse and began tightening straps out of sight.

"Don't worry," came her voice from somewhere on the other side of the gargantuan beast. "You're riding Niccolò today. He is very gentle and tolerant of beginner's mistakes." The next part was said in a much lower voice. "Unlike his counterpart."

Ortensia made it into the saddle on the third attempt. Emiliana floated into the saddle of her own horse and gently nudged it with her knees. "Follow me. We'll take the easiest route toward the Collosseo."

Ortensia's black stallion - Niccolò - moved entirely of its own accord without any input from Ortensia, for which she was quite relieved. Emiliana rode what in Ortensia's expertise was a "light brown horse" with her customary grace, looking somewhat anemic perched atop the large animal.

"How long have you been working with horses?" Ortensia asked as they left the packed cobblestones of the Centro and tottered along the dirt of the fringe neighbourhoods that led to the Roman forum.

"My whole life," Emiliana said, smiling. "I was part of a performing troupe."

It made perfect sense. Her pint-sized stature, incredible muscle coordination, otherworldly flexibility... "You were an acrobat," Ortensia said.

"Yes. Most of the time I worked with another dancer, but horses were part of our livelihood. I grew up caring for them. They were my first friends."

"What happened to your troupe?"

"We were hunted down along with the other Romani."

"You're Romani?"

Emiliana shook her head. "But it didn't matter. Some of us were. We travelled a lot. They don't make distinctions."

"The Borgia?"

"The Church. The nobility. Whoever gives orders to guards. I didn't stop to ask questions after they'd slaughtered my family."

Ortensia didn't respond. Emiliana looked back with a calm smile. "It was a long time ago. Things are better now. The Order has given me purpose again. I have a new family. And I once again ride horses."

They rode on in thoughtful silence until they reached Rome's most notable monument. The Collosseo loomed above them like a hollowed out animal carcass, half decayed, overgrown arches leading into dark shadows. At the base of the building, a horse and his rider tottered on the spot. The patch of grass surrounding the landmark was elevated, and two feet of vertical rock face separated it from the main path. The horse seemed apprehensive of the edge and retreated over and over despite the rider's directives.

Emiliana sighed as the rider urged the horse to make the small jump. 

"He never really did get the grasp of riding," she said, looking at the rider with a mixture of pity and resignation. Ortensia urged Niccolò forward with her knees to get a better look. Together, they approached the rider, who had taken to waving his reins dramatically and shouting " **Hyah!** " and " **Andiamo!** " at irregular intervals. She recognized the olive robes before she saw his face.

"Well met, _Mentore_ ," Emiliana said, approaching with her horse. The Assassin turned in his saddle.

" _Maestro_ Santi!" he called out. "What a happy coincidence! Taking the new recruit into the field, I see. Are you enjoying the Roman sunshine?" He had to turn to face them a few times as the horse continued its erratic circular rounds.

"Yes, _Mentore_. I'm hoping to instill the basics of horsemanship."

Ortensia looked into Emiliana's face to check, but it was void of both sarcasm and reproach.

" _Bene, maestro._ "

" _Mentore_ , may I ask where you found this horse?"

The horse had begun shaking his head, as if it could remove the bridle by willpower alone. 

"This one? Eh...I can't remember, to be honest. I may have picked it up at the Terme di Dioclezano."

"It appears very worn out, _Mentore_. Perhaps we can bring it to the stables to rest. I can lend you my horse or you can take one from there."

Ezio once again attempted to guide the horse toward the edge, but finally settled for letting it wander toward the arches instead. "A good idea, Santi. Lead the way, if you'd be so kind..."

The stablehand took the horse without comment and began to brush down its fur while the horse quaffed from the water trough. Ezio selected another horse without much thought and mounted smoothly.

"Doesn't he have to pay?" Ortensia asked.

"He personally owns 90% of the stables and has renovated 94% of the Antico district," Emiliana said. "These credentials give him a lot freedom."

Ortensia looked at the other recruit for a moment. "You don't like that he doesn't pay," she realized.

Emiliana frowned slightly, the first real emotion Ortensia had ever seen on her face. "The horses don't seem to mind him much. Even with the..." she gesticulated her arms wildly then regripped her reins. "Mostly I wish he would stop commandeering them from farmers who need them."

Ezio turned a lazy circle on his new horse, then dismounted. He turned to the two recruits.

"Watch this!" 

He placed two hands on the horse's rump and defied gravity in a beautiful standing jump that ended with him landing gently in the saddle. His gleeful laugh at the successful trick made Ortensia grin.

"Can you do that?" she asked, applauding lightly. Emiliana clapped her hands in kind.

"No. Honestly, no one else can do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter I found some research about a racehorse named Machiavellian. Details as to why this historical reference became his name aren't available. So far, the only similarity between the racehorse and the political philosopher that I can find, other than this fanfic, is that both were subjects of paintings.


	10. X Marks the Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortensia's first mission does not go at all in the way she thought it would. Ezio continues to be terrible at horses, but displays his supernatural ability to find shiny things and sequester them about his person. Emiliana puts up with a lot.

Ezio, Emiliana and Ortensia rode south together on the roads. Ezio had invited them along on whatever mission he was fulfilling, of which he said little. Ortensia had followed Emiliana's lead, and was grateful for the chance to be back in her home district. She had visited her family only once since her recruitment, and had spun a story about a city job in a courier's office. She passed money along at regular intervals to mimic payment and said little of her life. 

She was slightly apprehensive at being 'caught' in her assasssin's garb and in the presence of the ornately armoured Ezio Auditore, but she knew from her own experience that the citizens of Antico never looked too closely at the faces of people who rode horses, especially not well-dressed people. It didn't pay to be curious. Well. It did, if you were thieves. But even thieves stayed away from horsemen and preyed instead upon lone travelers or small entourages. 

Frankly, after a week of Rinaldo's tutelage, she was almost hoping to run into some of her old acquaintances. The image of one particular brat's face bouncing in the dirt lifted her spirits and emboldened her enough to ask,

"Where are we going, _Mentore_?"

"Today's mission is more of a side mission. We're here to tie up some loose ends."

"At the Terme di Traiano?"

"Yes, and other places."

Ortensia swallowed. This would be her first mission, side or not. If there was an assassination, an actual killing... She hadn’t prepared. They hadn’t even approached it in training yet. Surely both Ezio and Emiliana knew that.

Her mentore soon dissuaded all thoughts of assassination when he dismounted with an impish glint in his eye.

"Near here," he said, looking up at a disused hovel. "Somewhere here. Can you hear it?"

"Hear...?" Ortensia asked, scanning the dirt tracks.

"The sound of shiny things!"

She stared at him as he took a running start and nimbly pulled himself to the unfinished top storey, perching briefly on a crumbling wall before dropping out of view. Ortensia glanced at Emiliana, who was wearing a variant of expressionlessness that Ortensia was beginning to associate with Ezio's displays of eccentricity. After a few moments, Ezio clambered over the wall and landed neatly beside them.

"One hundred and ninety florins," he said, triumphantly. "And a tomato."

"A -- where did you find these, _Mentore_?"

"A good assassin always knows where to find resources," he said, grinning, as he mounted his horse and urged it onward.

Emiliana answered before Ortensia had a chance to ask for a translation. "There are treasure boxes stashed all over Rome and the surrounding land. We have no idea where they're from or who put them there."

"Treasure boxes? I have never ever come across one and I _assure_ you, I was looking."

That expression again. "He seems to be the only one who can find them."

Ortensia shook her head, feeling herself adopt a similar face.

* * *

The next few hours were filled with scrambling and climbing. Ortensia and Emiliana seemed to be there simply for the use of their pockets as the two recruits were truly useless in uncovering the treasure boxes themselves. Ezio had taken them to a room that he insisted contained a box, wandering toward the mysterious "shiny sound" only he could hear like a man dowsing for water. Ortensia had been speechless when he'd found it in an area she had checked twice thoroughly.

They rode back to Tiber Island at dusk. The dirt tracks were less of a problem, but Ortensia found horses to be extremely difficult to manouevre in the city. The citizens of Rome marched toward them as if they weren't there, then fell back dramatically amidst affronted cries and exaggerated shin, knee and elbow injuries.

Ezio seemed to be no better. He directed his horse toward a narrow flight of stairs that seemed perfectly passable, but moments before his horse ascended, it turned away in much the same way his horse had at the Collosseo. He attempted it several times before Emiliana tactfully suggested an alternate route.

They left the horses at a nearby stable and continued on foot. Once they arrived at the hideout, Ezio disappeared into his quarters, leaving a bow-legged Ortensia to lurch forward into a chair.

"Nrrrrrrggghhhh--"

"First time on a horse?" Adele said, looking up from a book.

Emiliana patted Ortensia's shoulder before taking a seat. "And she did very well. She even remembered to feed Niccolò and brush him down."

Ortensia declined to mention that Niccolò had bitten down on her hood and refused to let her go until she'd found the brush and waved it in his field of vision.

"I'll get you a poultice," Adele said and floated soundlessly into the kitchen. Ortensia rubbed her aching hamstrings distractedly and shrieked loudly. The other recruits in the room descended upon her as she held up a finger on which sat a large, black leech.

" _Where the hell did that come from?_ "

"You gotta make sure those jars are tight," Rinaldo said. "Be glad it's not ambergris. That stuff never washes out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of those things I didn't consider until Ortensia did: where _do_ those boxes come from? Also, getting jumped by a band of thieves in the countryside is only my favourite part of the game :D Like, "Oh, good. Rare items. If you could all fall over in an orderly line so I may inspect your pockets..."
> 
> And I'm most definitely not referring to the Italian national football team, or any FIFA team, at any point during this chapter.


	11. Political Science 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortensia discovers the historical machinations affecting her beloved city and finds out the world is vastly more complicated than Antico district let it be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter heavily delves into politics that were never explained in AC Brotherhood, and gives the prelude to what became the Italian Wars. Feel free to skip this chapter -- you will only miss out on Ugo Ubaldi's character building and a LOT of regional and international politics of the colossal shit-storm that was 1494.
> 
> This chapter also forced me to define the month and year it takes place in. Let it be the end of March, 1495.
> 
> Edit: Shit. 5000 words later I realize that Ezio only arrives in Rome in 1500. ....uggggggggghreeeeeeewrriiiiiiiiiite...

"...I rather get the impression that you're not paying attention, _recluta_ Orlandi."

Ortensia roused herself from her waking slumber only to immediately sag into a new shape. There were no windows on the lowest floor of the Hideout, which was the main reason Ugo Ubaldi had chosen to relocate their lessons here from the fourth floor study. Without the palm-sweating distractions of endless roofs and unsuspecting guards, he had hoped to be able to corral Ortensia's focus onto the blackboard and the maps pinned beside it.

Ortensia dearly missed the windows, if only as an indicator of passing time. She could have been sitting at the table for half a day or scarcely an hour, it was impossible to differentiate in the steady torchlight. 

"Ay _am_ payingattenshun..." she mumbled.

"I wasn't aware _drool_ was a sign of alertness," Ugo said, dryly. Ortensia hastily inspected her tunic and sleeves, but found nothing. Ugo raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"We're discussing city states in the Italian peninsula, if you're interested. Perhaps you can point out Naples on this map."

The recruit straightened and looked at the ink drawing on the pinned parchment. She pointed. "That bit."

"This bit?"

"Yes?"

"This is Sicily."

"Oh."

"It's quite apparent because it is not connected to the Italian Peninsula in any fashion whatsoever."

"Oh."

"Naples comprises the southern portion of the peninsula, from beneath the Papal States to the coast of the Ionian Sea, excepting, of course, the anomalies of Benevento and Pontecorvo," Ugo dutifully pointed to these with a stiletto dagger, "alongside the territory in Avignon, the former home of the papacy in the 14th Century."

"Hm."

"However, you're closer to the truth than you suspect, Ortensia. Sicily and Naples were united after King Alfonso I (or Alfonso V of Aragon) conquered Sicily in 1442, and only separated again in the 50s."

"Ugo."

"Yes?"

"I'm dying here."

The almost-assassin gave her a look, then relented. Ortensia had taken a while to warm up to Ugo. He had a severe resting facial expression that only seemed to animate with intense political debate or history lessons. He had none of Emiliana's grace, nor Laura's reluctant mothering, nor Candida's and Rinaldo's brutish charm. Even Beatrice seemed fairly neutral toward him, finding him an unworthy target of her pranks and jibes. The only shared passion between Ugo and Severino was cartography, though their interests soon diverged. Severino favoured navigation, while Ugo expounded on political power. Trade routes was the only much discussed common ground.

Similarly, while the other recruits indulged their... amorous interests, which Ortensia suspected involved members within the guild, Ugo was quite unaffected by the heated, passionate stirrings that captivated the guild. (Ortensia had walked into the study one evening to find an improbably geometric arrangement between Adele and the Two Tens. She'd stumbled out backward, burning red, and had only reflected later that, to their credit, she hadn't heard a thing in this thin-walled building.)

Ugo sat down at the table opposite her and slid a hand over his gleaming scalp. He maintained a surgically close shave. It seemed to be the only vanity he possessed.

"Alright then. Where did I lose you?"

"I just..." Ortensia sighed, frustrated. "What does any of this have to do with the Borgia? I mean, who cares what's going on in Naples, when Rome is being run by a load of bull-shitting _bastardi_."

"Was that a clever reference to the insignia of the Borgia family?" Ugo said, hopefully.

Ortensia was hungry and not in the mood for anything but simple answers. "Sure."

Ugo stood and removed the map of the Italian Peninsula from the wall and laid it on the table between them.

"Naples is at the core of everything, these days," he began. "Naples and Milan -- see, here, by the Alps -- are age-old rivals. The new Regent of Milan is Ludovico of the Sforza Family, _Il Moro_ as he's known. He wasn't supposed to be, however. The title should have gone to his nephew."

"So he's a usurper?"

"Essentially. City states are always at the whim of their most powerful families. What Ludovico needs now is support and legitimacy."

"Support and what?"

"He needs people to believe he's the rightful Regent," Ugo rephrased.

"But he's not, he stole it," Ortensia pointed out.

"Well, yes. Now he needs to convince enough people that it was the right thing to do."

"But it wasn't, was it? The real Regent should be his son or nephew or whatever."

"By the rights of inheritance, yes. The boy was seven at the time." 

Ortensia opened and closed her mouth. "Seven? Who gives a throne to a seven year old?"

"Perhaps that was Ludovico's motivation to challenge the claim, although why he challenged for almost thirty years, I do not know. Logic did not win that battle, however. His nephew died under suspicious circumstances last year, which finally ended the conflict and gave Ludovico the title."

"Are you serious-- "

"Perhaps if we move along, there's a lot to cover... At the same time, in Naples, the ever-so-delightful King Ferdinand I also died a year ago, putting his son Alfonso II on the throne."

"Was it suspicious?" 

Ugo smiled at the nascent cynicism of his pupil. "I think you'll find nothing at this level of politics that isn't suspicious, although the man had been ill for a long time. So in the span of a year or so, these two rival city states acquire new, ambitious rulers who don't like each other. With me so far?"

"Yes..." Ortensia said, cautiously.

"Good. That was the easy part. I'll spare you the worst of it, but essentially, Naples is now laying claim to the Milanese duchy."

"How-- ?"

Ugo waved his hand. "And Naples itself was given to King Charles of France by our previous Pope because he and King Ferdinand I had a falling out."

"What? Over what? You can't just _give_ \--"

Ugo waved his hands until Ortensia fell silent. "King Charles has a remote claim through his wife's family. Now, until recently, Naples and indeed Sicily were still dependencies of the Spanish monarchy, Aragorn. Do you see? Unlike our happily chaotic city states, France and Spain are vast territories, each united under a monarchy. And both of these kingdoms believe they have a right to Naples."

Ortensia sat back and went through it again in her head. Finally, she said,

"So... Charles is the big brother and Milan and Naples are toys belong to Ludovico and Alfonso. Ludovico is playing with Milan and Alfonso wants to play with it too, so Ludovico goes crying to Charles. Alfonso is hoarding Naples, but big brother Pope got annoyed with Alfonso and said he'd give it to Charles to punish Alfonso."

"An excellent summary, both of their characters and the events."

Ortensia nodded. Growing up with six siblings made it an easy comparison.

"Although it is worth pointing out that "big brother Pope" was annoyed at Ferdinand and Alfonso is tainted by association."

"Okay, so Charles thinks Naples belongs to him. Ah," she said, light dawning, "except it kind of already belongs to Spain. Queen Isabella."

"Yes, which reminds me, your earlier question. Naples lays claim to Milan because Princess Isabella of Naples was the wife of Ludovico's unfortunate nephew."

Ortensia threw her hands in the air.

"This is madness, Ugo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be donating a sizable chunk of my first real paycheck to Wikipedia as thanks for the hours I spent perusing their articles. I also had to unsee several scenes of Showtime's _The Borgias_ in order to allow for historical fact to take place over historical fiction.
> 
> I've also, so far, excluded whatever AC Brotherhood had to say about King Charles' VIII invasion other than that it happened.


	12. The Apple of Dischord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late fifteenth century Italy was a _mess_. Ortensia continues her history lessons with the knowledgeable Ugo Ubaldi, when a gaunt figure makes his debut. Introducing Niccolò Machiavelli.

Ortensia rubbed her temples. "Everyone wants a piece of Naples. Now what?"

Ugo spread his hands expansively. "What kings want, they tend to take. Look at the map. Here's France. Barring sea access to Naples, what's directly in the way?"

Ortensia hesitated, a student reluctantly trying to find a more complicated answer than the one that presented itself. "...Everything?"

Ugo smiled. "Yes. Everything, as you say. Including the Alps and Milan, the ever enterprising Florence, and of course, Rome and the Papal States."

"So...too bad, then."

"Indeed. And King Charles certainly has enough to be going on with. And this is where, as you say, the bull-shitting _bastardi_ make an appearance."

Ortensia found herself paying close attention. Ugo pulled a scrap of parchment toward him and wrote _Alexander IV_ in neat script.

"Our Pope has centred himself squarely in the middle of this conflict. He has brokered a peace with Naples, which is by all rights a humongously powerful city state under any rule, by marrying his son to an illegitimate daughter of Alfonso II."

He added _Naples (Alfonso)_ and drew a dotted line between the two.

"Ludovico's Regency is still shaky, and Naples has long spoken out in support of the unfortunate nephew's rightful title."

Ugo added the names _Ludovico_ and _King Charles_ , and connected them with a dotted line as he spoke. "The French King is powerful. If he backs Ludovico's claim, his regency and by extension Milan will be secure. How do you convince a war-hungry king to like you? You tell him, 'I will allow you to cross my lands to reach and conquer Naples if you support me'."

"Okay, that makes sense," Ortensia said. "Ludovico gets the King to take care of his rival and gets to secure his title, and the King gets Naples."

"Yes, quite convenient. Problematic, of course, for Naples, which would much rather hang on to its own land."

"Okay."

"The problem, Ortensia, is that this is all bullshit." Ugo looked quite serious as Ortensia glanced at him. "This is all we really know, but do you really think King Charles would have listened to a worm like _Il Moro_? Why would a big brother invest so much time and energy on the say-so of a duchy's regent?"

"Maybe... because Naples is a really nice toy?" 

Ugo gave a non-committal shrug. "Sure. It's a nice toy. Lots of coast. Trade. Arts. But it's been a nice toy for a long time. No, something else happened, I'm sure of it. Something we haven't heard about. I suspect, of course, our beloved Pope." 

"Why would the Pope support someone else conquering Naples, didn't he make a peace agreement with Alfonso?" 

"This climate is not good for peace agreements," Ugo smiled. "It's the heat. They tend to decay rapidly. Of course, it could be someone who wants to upset the Pope. An enemy. I think Ludovico is too weak to convince a King on its own. I'm convinced there's more to it. 

"In either case, Ludovico, of course, has granted access through Milan and last September, King Charles crossed the Alps and invaded our chaotic little peninsula." Ugo pulled a small empty vial out of his pockets and placed it onto the Alps, sliding it over the map over Milan. "This is King Charles. He still has to get through Florence and Rome to conquer Naples." 

"Right." After a while, she looked up and realized Ugo was looking at her expectantly. "Oh. Um. Well, he can't, can he? What has Florence got to do with it? They've got no reason to be involved." 

"They value their lives." A silken voice tore through the main hall of the Hideout. Ortensia turned and saw Candida entering alongside a tall, darkly robed man. The smile that spread over Ortensia's face at the sight of the female assassin froze abruptly as the man drew closer. "And there is the small matter of that incompetent deluded friar, Savonarola." 

Ugo got to his feet and gave a respectful bow. " _Signor_ Machiavelli. I'm glad you've returned to us safely. This is our newest recruit, Ortensia Orlandi." 

Ortensia hastily followed suit, bowed her head and placed a fist over her heart. She could feel it thumping through her tunic. At a grunt of recognition, she looked up at sharp cheekbones, black velvet clothes and golden embroidery. He was peering at her. She felt dissected. 

"Niccolò Machiavelli." His voice was expressionless. "I see you are receiving instruction in ongoing interstate politics." 

"Just learning the basics, s-sir," Ortensia said, unable to look to Candida for reassurance. The man was as chilling and fascinating as a snake. She was sure that, should she glance away, he would strike. 

"Such a thing is worthless," Machiavelli said, curtly. "To learn only basics is to embrace a simpleton's world, a crude map wholly useless to any traveler." 

"A crude map is easier to improve, _signor_ , than no map at all," Ugo said, genteelly. Ortensia should have felt comforted by Ugo's support, but she felt paralysed under Machiavelli's disapproving stare. 

Abruptly, his apparent inspection ended, and the stare softened into something bearable. "This is true, of course, _Signor_ Ubaldi." 

"Will you join us?" Ugo asked, offering a spot on the bench. "The value of your insight to Florentine politics greatly exceeds that of mine, naturally." 

Machiavelli inclined his head, yes, and sat. Only then did Ortensia feel able to look at Candida. The older recruit excused herself and left for the kitchens, with the promise of returning with wine. Ugo and Ortensia sat down. 

"So, where were we? Ah yes." Ugo tapped the vial. "King Charles is at the doors of Florence and the city -- well, perhaps..." He gestured to the gaunt senior Florentine official, who leaned his elbows onto the table and steepled his fingers. 

"King Charles brings a brutality of warfare to Italy that we have not hitherto seen or heard. In November, our city was at the mercy of its own fear, fed by rumour and a grotesque show of strength, and only further poisoned by the ramblings of a religious man who believes the French King is a lieutenant of God, sent to burn the Church clean from unsavoury vices, glutenous excess and corruption." His inflection was decidedly bitter toward the end. 

Ortensia's brain had finally awoken from its shocked submissiveness and allowed a small thought. _Emiliana's right, I prefer the horse_. 

Candida returned with two casks of wine and an armful of stacked clay cups. She set them down and poured a large measure of wine each for the four of them with business-like efficiency. She stepped over the bench and sat heavily next to Ortensia, raising the cup in a salute and downing it in one movement. 

She gave Ugo and Ortensia a tired look. "Rough roads," she explained. 

"Indeed," Machiavelli said. "I requested additional security from your Mentore for the entry into Rome. _Signorina_ Masini most graciously offered her services." 

"My honour to serve you," Candida said hoarsely, refilling her cup. Machiavelli looked almost human, for a moment, as he looked over the weary assassin. 

"I do regret that it has become so taxing for us to do our work. We work in the dark to serve the light, but one has to wonder whether the dark does not cause us to confuse our targets." 

Ugo raised an eyebrow. "Small wonder, when all the shadows shake hands with the left and prepare to strike with their right." 

"There will never be a shortage of ambitious men who seek to subjugate their people," Machiavelli said, sharply, "the question is which faction most strongly aligns with the Templars and furthers their cause." 

"Well, it's not Savonarola," Candida said, surprising the others. "All he sees is a holy mission being fulfilled, the more blood the better. He wants the Pope kneeling in the dirt, doesn't care who comes next." 

"Quite astute," Machiavelli said. "Misguided though he is, he seeks subservience, not oppression." He cleared his throat. "Ultimately, his appeal to King Charles and... other unfortunate events have left Florence as little more than a cowering and delusional husk. Now, Savonarola continues his dissonant preachings while Naples is lost." 

Ortensia looked up. "He did it, then? King Charles reached Naples?" 

Machiavelli looked momentarily speechless and Ugo quickly intervened. "Yes, and it's not surprising that Roman citizens haven't heard any reliable news. The heralds are all controlled by the Church and it won't do to give out more information than will ensure popular support." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Ubaldi, you can't tell me news hasn't travelled to Rome. It's been a month! _Reached_ Naples, good grief, King Charles has crowned himself king of the place with practically no opposition." 

"For those who are well-informed and well-connected, _signor_ , it's not news. But to a population surrounded by rumour and intrigue and distracted by murder and oppression, there are other priorities." 

Ortensia realized that her complete ignorance was being valiantly justified in her stead and had the decency to show her signature colour, Embarrassed Burgundy. Machiavelli gave her the mortified gaze of an insectologist discovering a seven-legged beetle, but didn't argue further. 

Candida came to the rescue. "So, Ugo, tell us how Charles got through Rome." Ortensia pushed down the urge to embrace her fiercely. Candida's breathing was laboured. Bruised ribs, maybe. 

"That is an excellent question, Candida. Why on earth would our Pope, who is allied with King Alfonso, formally, allow the French army to pass? And indeed, build encampments in our countryside and provide Bartolomeo and his troops such entertainment." 

Machiavelli's face soured further, but Ortensia could see she was no longer the subject of his distaste. He muttered under his breath. "D'Alviano, a man who would strike at his own reflection if he thought it was threatening him..." 

"I don't know," Ortensia said, responding to Ugo's question. "It doesn't make sense. The Roman military is strong-- " 

"Hah!" Machiavelli barked. "Child, King Charles has 25 000 men and weaponry that can sever a field of men at the waist. Our Pope may deem himself all-powerful, but his reach has yet to match his outlandish self-importance." 

"You think military intimidation was what opened Rome's doors?" Ugo raised his eyebrows at his bench partner. "Naples is a convenient stepping stone to the Ottoman Empire, after all." 

"Oh, you _don't_ believe _that_ nonsense, surely. The Pope steering King Charles like an errant battering ram toward the Turks?" 

"It was one of the more official reasons given for the passage," Ugo pointed out. 

"Well, the incredible short-sightedness certainly matches the character of the papacy," Machiavelli muttered. "You would have better luck steering an enraged ox. A fact they must surely have finally appreciated, even in their ornate halls and carpeted slippers. King Charles is a ruthless force. Conquering Naples in six months, when Milan's been batting at it like a cat for years." 

"Mordano wasn't a clear enough statement of intent, it seems." 

"Ah, only to Florence. Perhaps the Pope thought pillaging our countryside would cool Charles' temper so he would take Naples with a measure of grace instead of brutal efficiency." 

"So efficient not a single battle was even attempted," Ugo said, morosely. 

"Fear is an invaluable ally in warfare, _Signor_ Ubaldi." 

"It's not the technical inefficiency of Neapolitan warfare I mourn, _Signor_ Machiavelli." 

"The traditional line of inheritance? Alfonso was unpopular already. Don't tell me it's the lives lost." 

"I would never venture sentimentality in your presence, _signor_." 

Machiavelli went to speak but seemed to stumble. He rallied. "The only thing we can say is that any Templar efforts have been significantly derailed alongside the Pope's plans for more control over the Papal States." 

Ortensia hiccuped loudly, and clapped her hands over her mouth. The two men looked up, both slightly dazed, as if they'd forgotten they weren't alone. 

"I'm sorry," she said. She pointed a finger at the wine, shifting the blame like a toddler caught in parental headlamps. 

Ugo softened from his political discussion, which translated into a cooling of his temperament. He became the Teacher again. 

"We've covered a lot of material today. No doubt we'll need a refresher tomorrow, but perhaps we could both benefit from a restful interruption." 

Ortensia wasn't sure if he was referring to himself and his student, or himself and his political debate partner, who stared into the wooden table over steepled fingers. Either way, it was clear she was given leave to go. 

"Yes, sir. _Signor_. Um. _Signor_ Machiavelli, pleased to make your acquaintance..." 

Machiavelli waved his hand in a gesture at once magnanimous and dismissive. Candida roused herself from her a semi-slumber and made her excuses, gingerly rising from the table. Ortensia waited at the door for her. 

"Are you alright?" she whispered. 

"Nothing Adele can't fix," the older woman said, passing by to go up the stairs. 

Ortensia followed, throwing a glance back at the two figures at the table. Machiavelli seemed to be removing some dirt from his eye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter I never posted. I have vague memories of me placing the previous chapter too early in Italy's history or something and trying to fix it here.  
> Right, because I assumed in the game AC Brotherhood II, our interaction with the French was on their way _to_ Naples, but after a truly exhaustive literature review and several frustrating hours, I discovered it was actually on their way _back_ , after the relationship with the Papacy soured and excrement hit the whirring air dispersal device over most of south, west, and east Europe.  
> If you don't get any of this, don't worry, neither does Ortensia. I maintain no one had any idea what the hell was going on during the Italian Wars.


End file.
